


Hot Springs by Starlight

by CaptainCrozier



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, M/M, Survivor Guilt, Water Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 15:45:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16478378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainCrozier/pseuds/CaptainCrozier
Summary: On the return journey to England the survivors are forced to shelter in an Icelandic bay. James discovers a geological phenomenon he feels may help Francis to forget his burdens.[It was supposed to be PWP but feelings got in there so now It Plot With Emotions and Some Smut][Not part of Forged in Ice universe]





	Hot Springs by Starlight

‘Marvellous, isn’t it?’ James placed one booted foot upon a rock and gazed before him proudly.

‘A pond,’ Francis grumbled, ‘You’ve dragged me out here in the middle of the night to gaze upon a bloody pond?’

James looked sidelong at his fellow Captain, supressed the grin of amusement that threatened to betray him. ‘It is not merely a pond… technically it is a _pool_.’

‘A pool, a pond, it’s the same damn thing, James, and you _know_ how I feel about them.’ Crozier shoved his gloved hands deep into the pockets of his newly pressed great coat and huffed out a plume of breath, his face for a moment hidden beneath his peaked cap.

‘Oh, come now,’

‘Its almost middle watch, the men are abed, and I should be too, James. There is much to do. Much that does not involve midnight hikes in the blasted snow to look at watery…’ he paused. ‘Wait. Why isn’t it frozen?’ he asked.

Fitzjames rocked in his boots, kept his gaze averted, but the snort of pleasure at Francis’ confusion could not be contained.

‘Is that…?’ Francis was looking in earnest now.

‘Steam.’

‘Steam?!’

‘Its warm… _hot_ actually,’ James said finally returning his gaze. Francis gawped, looked back across the rocky pool. The steam billowed up in soft waves, floated in the cold air above and vanished in puffs. Slowly, slowly, Francis smiled, the light of it reaching his eyes as they crinkled in appreciation.

‘Well I never…’ he breathed, ‘Now that is worth seeing.’

 

 

 

Ross’ ship had stopped at Greenland on the homeward journey, but the storm had hit just south of the Isle and had thrown them off course. Forced to seek shelter for a time, Islandia had seemed a reasonable option, sparsely populated as it was but furnished with a port for the vessel. The Danes made them welcome, the natives too and the men found themselves to be comfortable amongst the basic little farms and fisheries.  There was no shortage of food and the local girls seemed pleased to seek the company of the heroic few who had returned from King Williams Land.  Six weeks had passed on board the _Enterprise_ and the worst of their weakness had left them. Now was the time for hearty meals and good grog and revels late into the night.

For most anyway. Francis had been reluctant to partake. He kept regular hours and routine, attended to his duties and some which were not even his to fret over. Though they had been there a week he was damned as near a recluse and the warm and approachable man he had become on the ice appeared to be vanishing bit by tiny bit, the dull shine of returning melancholy ever present in his eyes.

 At first James thought it was his new found sobriety holding him back. Always a shy and awkward man, he was in need of a nip of whiskey to loosen his reticence in society, but no longer had that option.  New faces and keen ears seeking stories and tales of adventure were too much for a modest chap who had seen only his crew and a handful of Esquimaux in the last four years. Feeling that he understood this reluctance, and wishing to protect his friend from the strain, Fitzjames took up the cudgel and spun a good few yarns while Crozier slunk back to the ship and closeted himself in his berth.  James hoped that in time he would emerge.

But he did not.

Except to check the inventories and visit those still in sickbay and do the rounds on deck, his brow knitted in ever present concern.

At last James understood. Francis Crozier was still in command. At least in his head. For him there would be no respite until they docked at Portsmouth; until the voyage was finally over. Although Ross commanded the _Enterprise_ the survivors he had found were still Crozier’s men and he would not let himself rest until they were home.

Well he would see about that. Francis had done more than fulfilled his duty in these last months and if he would not relinquish his responsibility willingly, James would remove his burden from him, at least for a time.

So, it was that Captain Fitzjames found himself outside the Great Cabin that night with a well stuffed backpack and an enthusiastically winning smile which would, he was certain,  melt the sternest of Francis’ resolutions.

Before he had e’en had time to knock, Francis opened the door, almost walking straight into him on his way to the deck. He blinked at James owlishly.

‘What in blazes..?’

‘A stroll, Francis. I thought we might take the air.’

‘It’s gone six bells!’

‘It’s not far,’ James oozed.

‘I’ve had enough of walking.’

‘But it is a beautiful night, the aurora…’

‘I’ve had enough of that as well…’

‘Francis,’ he inched closer, fixing his friend’s irritated squint with a debilitatingly charming look, ‘It will do you good, come away from your duties for a spell, try to relax a little, hmm… Just you and I.’

He was close enough that Francis’ breath warmed his chin, close enough to see the flex of his pupils as he looked up at him. He placed a hand upon his shoulder and the unspoken thing which had followed them from their ships hung in the air between them, undefined, untested, as nebulous as the borealis themselves. Lord if he did not understand it, but it was as magnetic as the poles and sent shivers of bare anticipation to his fingertips each time it arrested him in moments such as these. Personal, hidden moments where each breath seemed to last a lifetime. He watched with fluttering heart as Crozier tried to quell his own response to the thing, holding James’ gaze for a moment too long. At last James wet his lips subtly and Francis snapped his eyes away.

‘Very well,’ he groused, ’But this had better not take all night.’

 

 

 

 

Francis was still staring at amazement at the water, or more accurately at the bubbles which rose to the surface in gentle little streams. James waited, watching as the cogs rotated, taking in each rapid movement of his eyes as Crozier turned about him, seeking out explanations. He knew the man had knowledge, of ice and of rock, of the earth’s magnetic field and stars beyond. He had been to the Antarctic, seen the volcanos there amongst the glacier and the formations of land beneath. He was not sure such a phenomenon as this pool lay to the South, but he was almost certain Francis would work it out.

At last he saw his friend’s gaze light upon the mountains beyond.

‘Ah!’ he exclaimed with such a rush of enthusiasm as James had not witnessed in weeks. ‘There!’ His gloved hand pointed yonder, ‘I see! The earth itself heats these pools! There are volcanoes to the North and active too!’

James nodded, ‘Indeed, Francis. I took a stroll but yesterday and fell to talking with a local, well a Dane, but his English was quite passable. The earth splits and the heat rises and all these streams and pools are as hot as any bath in England, with the added benefit that they ne’er cool and take not hours to prepare with servants. Some like this even bubble and if you look to the rear there is a little waterfall, just as warm as the rest. Is it not wonderful?’

Francis was crouching now by the side of the water, he removed a glove and touched first the stone at his feet with a small chuckle of pleasure and then cautiously dipped his fingers into the pool.

‘God’s blood it is hot!’

James grinned above him.

‘Hot and apparently most soothing. The locals bathe here, the water has some… component? Eases tired muscles and relaxes the mind.’

‘They are lucky indeed to have such a thing upon their perpetually frozen doorstep,’ Francis conceded, standing again. He pulled his glove back on. James frowned. ‘Dr Goodsir would be in his element, James, you must show him this.’

‘It is you I have brought here, Francis, not Harry.’

Francis looked quickly at him, ‘And I am grateful, you are quite correct, it is a wonderous thing.’

James dumped his backpack at his feet, ‘Well…’ he said despairingly.

‘Well what?’

‘Aren’t you going to get in?’

‘Get in?’

‘To the water?’ Christ was the man thick headed or merely deliberately obtuse. ‘I did not walk us out here just to _look,_ Francis.’

‘I can’t get in there!’ he protested.

James tilted his head playfully, ‘Why ever not, we’re all men here, its naught I’ve never seen before.’

A stunned expression passed over Francis’ roughened face, his lips parted slightly and James found that he could not help but appreciate the line of his sensitive mouth as he struggled with his embarrassment.

‘It is freezing tonight James!’ he tried.

‘It is warm in there,’ he cocked his head at the pool.

‘Yes… but… I mean…’

‘Disrobe quickly enough you will barely feel it. God in Heaven Francis you’ve washed in frozen water often enough in these last few years, this is less of a trial than that. A few seconds bare and you will be in the heat of the water before you know it.’

He could have sworn Francis blushed. E’en in the frozen air and darkness.

‘It’s the middle of the night! I cannot be stripping naked and frolicking about in steaming pools with my fellow Captain. I have some dignity and must retain decorum. I still command this expedition and I have responsibilities.’

‘Oh, Hell’s teeth!’ James cried. ‘Leave your responsibilities aside for one moment, man! We are almost home. Sir James commands. You have naught to do but recover yourself and heal and yet you chain yourself in misery to your position until the last second of our voyage!’

‘That is my role, James! I have come thus far I cannot shirk it now,’ Francis said angrily. ‘We are not home yet.’

‘But we will be soon, and disaster does not lurk around each corner, we are less than three weeks away from Scotland, four from London, we have made it Francis, we are saved.’

He saw him shake his head resolutely and dip down beneath his cap again to hide his face.

‘We are not saved until I see the English shore with mine own eyes, James,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Until then I cannot rest.’ He hunched forward in his coat and looked miserably to the ground.

James’ heart broke for him then and all jests about the pool or Francis’ coy reluctance fled from his lips. He had seen Francis at his worst and weakest, full drunk and half starved and yet, he had ne’er seen him look as lonely as he did now, half recovered, the worst of his illness past, his uniform pressed into something resembling presentable but hanging loosely at his waist. Of course he could not relax. He was haunted, still haunted by all he could and ought to have done and all he did not, by each failure, each loss, each mistake he e’er made. James owed him his life and to him he was the truest kind of hero, but he would not see the strength of himself, the courage he had shown, his kindness and honour, only torment himself for each fault or error.  His figure cut darkly against the light of the aurora behind, against the hard rocks and frozen ground, broad shouldered but weighed down, and burdened by the souls of the dead.

He wanted to hold him but he knew it was the last thing Francis would accept. Still he had to help him somehow, he could not go on this way. Very well, a different tact.

James unbuttoned his greatcoat. It took a moment for Francis to realise, so lost was he in his own thoughts, but when he did his expression was one of such incredulity that James could not help but to smirk.

‘I did not walk here for nothing,’ he told the quizzical eyebrow Crozier raised, and with a flourish removed the coat and handed it to Francis as though he was his steward. He accepted it stupefied and stood gawking by his side.

‘What in Hell, what would you have me do with this?’

‘Place it on the rocks there to keep it warmed,’ James undid his waistcoat and hung it over Francis’ outstretched arm as though he were a convenient clothes horse, glancing at him discreetly to see how he seethed, before untying his cravat.

‘Truly Francis if you will not bathe then you will at least keep my things dry and warm while I do. It is o’er three years since I took a bath, and while a basin of tepid water applied with a cloth once a week might be sufficient for the likes of you, I wish to feel fresh all over at last.’

‘The likes of me!?’

‘Well… you know…’

‘Do I?’ Crozier blustered.

‘You were ne’er one to care for your appearance, Francis.’

‘You impudent…’

‘Daresay you wouldn’t know what Macasser oil was e’en invented for…’

‘I’ll hazard it is not applied to lubricate the barrel of a gun…’

James thrust his cravat at him, lowered his braces and pulled the tails of his shirt from his trousers. He stooped and pulled at his boots.

‘Damn it, James you’ll lose your toes if you persist in this.’

Boots off, Fitzjames tugged at his shirt, and once free thrust that too into Crozier’s arms as the icy air prickled his skin.

‘Christ that’s cold,’ he murmured and flicked open the buttons of his trousers while half hopping on the spot to keep his stockinged feet from freezing in the snow. In a clumsy strip tease he staggered from the last items of his smallclothes and blindly pitched these in the direction of his companion. James took a step forward onto the rocks.

‘Ah!’ here it was warm against the soles of his feet, ‘Should have stood here from the beginning. If you do decide to join me Francis, I recommend you undress here it is quite warm. Francis?’ he looked round as he pulled the heavy socks from his feet, ‘Francis?’

‘Just get on with it.’ Francis stood side onto him, his face averted. Fitzjames’ uniform was folded over his arms and hugged against his body.

‘Francis what are you doing?’ despite himself James teeth chattered.

‘Waiting for you to get in the damn pool and halt your descent into hypothermia.’

‘Why are you looking over there? For goodness sake you have been at sea forty years you have seen a naked man!’

He saw Crozier huff. ‘Stop prattling and get in before I have to push you in myself.’

James considered it, but only for a moment, he really was freezing his stones off waiting for Francis to do as much as glance in his direction, so he dived into the pool.

The temperature hit him with the sting of heat on cold flesh and for a moment he thought he might scald but then it passed. Warmth moved through his tingling limbs surely and steadily and he let out a gasp of pure pleasure. James dipped down until his chin rested on the water, the steam around his head, his hair wet about his face, and tred water a moment before propelling himself to the edge of the pool where Francis still stood, resolutely not looking in his direction.

James folded his arms and leaned on the warm rock. He cleared his throat. Francis looked down.

‘You’re missing out,’ James said.

‘Am I now,’ Crozier said stiffly, ‘Well have your fun, James, but don’t take too long about it.’

‘You can put those down you know, they wont freeze here,’ James said nodding at the bundle of clothes. Francis laid them across the hot rock at his feet then barrelled his fists into his pockets and stood looking as awkward and unhappy as James had ever seen him.

‘Francis, you were so tickled by the idea of this place when you saw it,’

‘As a geological novelty, James, not as a bloody Roman bath.’

‘Its incredible,’ James said, ‘Its so bloody hot, like nothing I’ve felt for years and it feels… soft somehow? Whate’er compounds have leeched into the water seem to make you feel light and free. It feels like the touch of a soothing palm, Francis, like a caress.’

Another huff.

‘Do your joints still ache?’ James asked knowing full well Francis was suffering each morning when he rose, or rather hauled himself from his berth stiff and sore. Part of his reason for patrolling the decks at all hours was to prevent him from seizing completely. Francis glanced at him furtively. ‘Come now, Francis, consider it medicinal. Find yourself a corner and soak, just a half hour, a few minutes? You will feel like a new man.’

He was weakening, James could see it. He had grown to know that face well, the press of his lips in thought, the tell-tale glance he made to his left. His hands had left his pockets now and worked together before him, twisting in rhythm to his thoughts. James backed off towards the centre of the pool, towards the waterfall. He turned his back.

‘There are no platypuses here,’ he called over his shoulder.

‘Be quiet!’

James chuckled. He knew fine well Francis would be thinking of that humiliating but wonderful day in Van Diemans land and as such would be feared of further such humiliation here, although quite what he thought James would do to the poor man was a mystery to him. Surely, he could trust him now, after all they had seen together. Fitzjames floated peacefully, waiting, waiting.

‘Stay over there!’ Francis called uncertainly.

‘Yes, yes,’ James reassured.

A rustle. Delight leap in his chest when he heard movement behind him on the rocks. O’er the sound of the bubbling water it was hard to make out the quiet noise of a nervous man trying to undress without detection but with each muted clunk of boots and belts on rock James became more certain that that was exactly what Francis was trying to do.  He kept his back turned, aware Crozier was unnaturally shy for a navy man, and indeed a man he had shared a sack with for over six months, but ah, he supposed despite their closeness there had ne’er been need for nudity, the most Francis had revealed was a flash of his pale chest as he washed beneath his shirt.

A minute passed. James worried that Francis may be freeze to death in hesitation on the rock and wrestled with the impulse to turn about and order him in, but he was afraid the man might flee if caught bare in his sight. He moved closer to the waterfall, noted an enclave behind its tumbling stream and then, at last he heard it.

A splash. James grinned and fought again the urge to turn, allowing Francis time to orientate and right himself, perhaps find a little spot for where he might at last allow himself peace.

‘Jesus Christ!’ the groan came from not far behind, rich and deep, the words rasping, ‘This is fucking heavenly, James.’

Fitzjames turned, Francis was treading water in the centre of the pool, much as he had just done, up to his neck in blissful hot water, his eyes closed. He let him luxuriate for a moment, the shape of his shoulders bobbing above the surface, pale in the arctic night. Finally, Francis opened his eyes, caught him staring and was immediately discomforted. He shrank down and made to retreat to the edge.

‘If you want, there’s a sort of cove behind this fall, quite private… I could leave you for a spell?’ James said casually. Francis paused, looked beyond him.

‘Show me,’ he said a little gruffly, following at a little distance.

James ducked under the falling water and popped up within the shadow of the cove, he looked back through the steam just as Francis joined him, emerging to his right and turning so his back was against the warm rock. Though he longed to remain it was clear that Francis would struggle to truly relax in company so having thus succeeded in his aim to get him into the water and reasonably settled James made to leave him too it awhile. He pushed off the rock and was about to duck back under the fall when he was halted by the incredible sight before them.

The aurora that night was green and blue, streaked in soft pink. In the sky it pulsed in sheets of hazy light, but here within the little cove, diffused by steam and the rivulets which fell before their eyes, it sparkled like gems in the sky before them, turned the water to precious jewels. A curtain of light shone across the pool, iridescent, delicate and unworldly, changing with each moment. James heard Francis’ breath leave him.

‘Christ that is… beautiful,’ James said quietly.

‘Yes,’ Francis whispered.

James stretched out his fingers to mingle with the falling water. The colours danced.

‘Stay,’ Crozier said, touching his arm. James glanced at him, noted how the shimmering light fell across his face until his entranced blue eyes shone like opals in the darkness of the cove. He was smiling, a frail and fragile thing, a look of wonderment one might have seen in a child, and yet his face still revealed his weariness. ‘How fortunate we are to see such a thing,’ he said sadly.

‘We are,’ James agreed. He leaned back and watched the fall in silence. Minutes passed.

‘I wish…’ Francis began haltingly. When James looked again the flimsy smile had fallen from his lips and it was clear the force of his loneliness had taken him. Francis closed his eyes hard against it, but a shudder ran through him. Here, in the cradling warmth of the water, he could not claim to feel the cold.

Fitzjames read his thoughts, knew at once he remembered all the men for whom Time ran out, who would now ne’er see such a beautiful sight. They ought to be here, with them on this island, but instead lay lost a thousand miles away. They would not feel the heat of a pool or the cold of the air, see the way the light refracted about the cove or sparkled in the water. They would ne’er see anything again, not the sky, not the earth, not home. Not the face of loved ones. Naught. James looked past the water to the twilight of the heavens, pictured it as it stretched o’er King Williams Land so far away. Some of their stars were the same.

‘I know… Francis… I know..’ he said softly.

Crozier bit his lip, his jaw working in a practiced move to press back all he felt once again. How often had he fought it? How often on that long and terrible journey to a rescue he’d scarcely dared believe had he mourned the men he left behind and bottled each pang of grief? Buried each hurt to the depths of his melancholy to fester and brew? And now here again he battled, ashamed and humbled, exhausted by his latest attempt to draw a veil o’er his pain.  James watched his face in agony. Francis Crozier, an abandoned book of tragedy, inching shut, his pages fluttering, his words lost to darkness, lest someone stop him and hold his place.

On impulse James reached for him. Not with a hand but with the whole of his arms and drew him in. It was a rash and improper gesture between men of their standing, but he found that he no longer cared for appearance, only for the mournful scene that lay before him. For a second Francis tensed and he feared he would push away, enraged and embarrassed to have allowed the tiniest flicker of his need to be exposed, but the beat passed and before he could explain how it happened, Crozier’s cheek was against James’ own, his warm chest pressed against him and somewhere beneath the surface legs found purchase between one another. He held him still and safe and James ran a hand down Francis’ back, the water pushing smoothly through his fingers in soft waves. Crozier’s breath hitched once.

‘Let it go now, Francis, there is no-one here but us, let it go.’

That hitch again. James lifted his hand from the water and placed it at the back of Francis’ neck, rubbed there in circles with the tips of his fingers. He could feel his companion holding his breath, the tautness of each muscle strained in James’ bare arms.

‘Let it go now,’ he said again, ‘I have you,’ and suddenly possessed with the need to do more, he gently pressed a chaste kiss to Francis’ temple.

The dam broke then. The noise from Francis’ throat was anguish itself and the clutch of his fingers as he held onto James would surely leave bruises in his newly healing flesh. A sob wracked him, its pain so apparent it made James’ eyes burn in sympathy, and he shook, hard and long as though he may shatter from the force. He could not stop, but with each tremor the weight of his burden seemed to lessen, fall from his back to the water around them to be carried by the churn of bubbles and streams away from him at last. As he wept, each cry moved along the surface in ripples, the light from the aurora capturing it and ferrying it free, releasing his guilt, removing each lost soul from his conscience and taking them home. Nature lapped against his back in rhythmic waves. The lost men lay with Her now, at peace in Her arms, with Nature and with God if He saw fit to take them, but regardless of their destiny they could no longer belong to Francis, that load was e’er too much for one man, and he had carried it alone too long. Now, the world absolved him and the earth sent comfort, the warm pool a womb from which to be reborn.

James held him and let him cry with naught but the sound of water and a few murmured comforts. The heat of the pool lent a pleasant heaviness to his limbs even as it buoyed them up, the weight of Francis against him half suspended by the water. They could stay like this for hours, until the worst of his despair had passed. James whispered against his hair, felt him shift in his arms, the press of his face against James’ neck, wet and close, until he could no longer tell what moisture came from tears and what from the steam around them.

Eventually he stilled. The ripples melted into nothing and only the steady tumble of the waterfall could be heard.

‘Forgive me,’ Francis said so quietly.

‘There is naught to forgive.’

‘I lost myself, there.’

‘You have lost much, Francis, but yourself never, nor I for that matter.’

Crozier levered himself back a little in James’ arms and their eyes met in the gloom, James suddenly aware of just how close they were, their bodies sealed together naked and wet, a tangle of thighs beneath, and the press of Francis torso against his ribs. Soft, so soft, though the arctic had been harsh he had begun to eat well again and now James’ fingers sank into the flesh above his hips with ease. Their gazes still locked he ran a hand from his back to his shoulder, then gently, so gently trailed his fingertips across his chest, catching the hairs there.

Francis’ breath stuttered, hot against his lips.

‘Christ,’ James whispered.

He brought him to him with a hand at the base of his skull, urging him closer, their lips meeting in a sudden desperate lunge. James tugged at Francis lower lip with his and felt a surge of joy as the man’s mouth opened to him easily, their tongues meeting, sliding, moving deeper. Against him Crozier’s hips jerked once and in response James felt down beneath the water, his hand meeting warm flesh through hot tides, gliding over the curve of his buttock, kneading at his thigh before tracing up once more.

Francis’ arms were around him now, tight and hard, seizing him to him as though he might consume him and render him part of himself. Breath came harsh and hard, clashing beneath their noses, spilling across cheeks, humid and burning, their mouths more open than shut as they kissed more deeply and with more need.

He could feel Francis stiff against his belly, half sitting atop of him now as James propped himself against the wall of the little cave, and with each kiss, a ragged thrust followed, his desire clear and wanton and whatever restraint he had employed thus far disintegrating unbidden. He ground into James and moaned into the kiss as James brought his hand to his stones, rolling the flesh and tugging gently in time with his movements until at last Francis broke contact to groan against his neck, his arms bracing him against the rock.

‘Oh…’ he whispered high and desperate and James grasped him, wrapping his long fingers around his thick cock, his thumb grazing the head until Francis bucked into him. ‘James… oh… God… _please_ …’

With his free hand James seized his jaw and brought their lips together, sucking and nipping, sliding his fingers around the back of Francis neck and digging his blunt nails into his shoulder. Francis’ rhythm staggered, the water suddenly churning around them, splashing hotly up their bodies, slick with sweat as well as steam. His dark hair sticking to his face James drew back and squeezed his eyes shut against the wave of need that burned him, pressed his forehead against Francis’s and set about a quick hard pace as he tugged.  Ne’er before had he wanted to give pleasure so badly, but not just pleasure but release, from all that tormented Francis, from every tension that had built. He felt Francis twitch in his hand, grow harder with each pull upon his prick, his own stiffness rubbing desperately against his thigh.

Francis’ left hand slipped from the rock behind his head and splashed down into the pool between them. Fingers grazed his hip and then found him at last, hard and aching, the contact so firm, so well sought that James lost his pace for a moment, gasping against Francis’ lips. He felt them smile in response then close upon his in another fathomless kiss.

The pace quickened then, synchronised and deep. James could feel the heat from Francis growing as he mouthed his flushed chest, catching each nipple with the point of his tongue, sucking marks upon the flesh. Francis held him fast, his own mouth seeking out his neck, his ear, the tender pulse point at the crook of his jaw until he felt naught but rivers of fiery need pulsing harder and faster, down beneath the water to where both of them mingled as one. He had not long to last and sped up his movements until he heard Francis choke back a cry and press his face to his neck. James could feel the furrow of his brow as he focused down, his release climbing closer and closer, his grip on James’ cock suddenly tighter, straining, straining –

‘Oh… _Oh_ …’

It hit Francis first, his body stiffened and the high panted pleas became a forthright baritone growl. He shuddered, his hips jerking helpless against James, the spill of a hotter thicker liquid in his hand for just a moment before the swirl of the water carried it away. As Francis tipped forward, his shoulders coming under James’ chin, his hand working to bring him to his own conclusion e’en as the last pulses of pleasure ran through him, James caught sight again of the miracle of light which shielded them from the frozen world beyond. It shimmered and sparkled as he soared, and then all was white and warmth, and stars and darkness.

With a kiss to James’ throat, Francis slid down his body and once more turned his back to the warm rock. The water stilled and with it his breath. His face peaceful, he looked out towards the sky, and James knew, to the ships, the men, the duties he had put pause to, to be there that night. Memories drifted o’er his face, in refracted greens and blues and melted starlight, the edge of melancholy waiting at the corner of his sight. For a moment James wondered if he would stoop below the waterfall, return to the past, and take back the weight upon his shoulders of which he had so briefly been free. James reached for his hand and glanced at him in question.

His gaze was caught with a soft and answering smile, and then as though deciding there was no hurry after all, Francis closed his eyes. He drifted, borne up by the warmth which surrounded him.

There was time for them now. There was so much time.


End file.
